The Call of the Wild
by emmbot
Summary: Try as they might, Yukihira Soma and Nakiri Erina just can't stay away from each other. A series of one shots from early days in Totsuki to their lives as adults. LATEST: Alice drags Erina out for some girl-time, and to help her understand her feelings for one Yukihira, and her non-feelings for one Asahi.
1. Chapter 1: A Prickly Erina is the Best

**A Prickly Erina is the Best Erina**

 **18:20 - Polar Star Dorm - Before the Promotion Exams**

"It's your turn tonight, eh?"

Yuki's busy stirring a mixture of herbs and berry compote into her sauce when he walks into the kitchen. It's cold out, but he's been feeling restless, his mind a flurry of activity. He'd gone for a run three hours ago – and when the endorphins had failed to clear his head, he'd taken a turn in the gardens with Isshiki-senpai, who'd been harvesting some vegetables for the night's dinner.

Yukihira Soma is exhausted, but he can't imagine he'll have a better time sleeping tonight.

"Oh, you brought in the tomatoes!" Yuki is vibrant as always, beaming as she reaches for his basket.

The beefsteaks had started flowering before the whole Central ordeal. He manages a bare smile at the memory of that morning – now but a distant memory. The reality is that barely two months have passed. The plan had been to harvest the tomatoes whilst they were still green, and to fry them up in batter and stack the slices with mozzarella, basil, and reduced balsamic vinegar. _I guess we've all been a little bit occupied._

He rubs at the back of his head with his exercise towel. Yuki hands him a cup of tea, and he meanders over to her station to peer into her bubbling pot. "That's the exact opposite of what Nakiri told you to do."

Yuki giggles. "Yes, but she's more herself when she's yelling. You should've seen the way her face got all red last night as she was telling Daigo off!"

"That Nakiri really is something," He chuckles. "But she does seem to be getting better." And really, she does. Her cheeks have more colour in them. She's started bothering with her hair again. A few days ago, he'd caught a glimpse of a smile.

It had been directed at Tadokoro, but it had still struck him senseless, warming him to the core.

He doesn't know what bothers him more – that Nakiri is here, or that he has no idea how to save her as per the Food Demons' King's instructions. _These Nakiris sure are demanding_.

He watches her across the dining hall at dinner. Nakiri Erina has always been a prickly sort of person, and that continues to be true, even in the company of the ever-effervescent Yuki. Still, he has to admit that she's a little different from her usual self. Warmer.

More gentle, Arato had said that one time.

She meets his eyes for a brief moment. But it isn't until the rest of the dorm have retired that she finally deigns to approach him, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

"You can stare at me all you like, Yukihira. I'm not tasting your garbage." She's haughty as ever despite her situation. Somehow, he likes this version of her best. Anything's better than the broken, defeated, rain-soaked Nakiri from three weeks ago.

"It's okay," He shoots back. "I know the effect my food has on ya. Especially your knees."

"Especially my gag reflex, you mean."

"I'm only kidding," He grins. "I mean, look at ya. God, you're the amazing Nakiri-san. We mere mortals can only hope to be half as good."

She scowls. "And now you're being condescending."

"Only a little." He can barely hold back his laughter, and god, she must see it, because he can practically feel her _bristle_ in her dress. "Admit it. You liked Yuki's dish, didn't ya?"

Nakiri purses her lips, then lets out a sigh, seeming to deflate after a moment or two. Her brows crease, and not for the first time since her arrival, she seems genuinely perplexed. "You're all so… different, here. You don't take instruction very well." She pauses, seemingly deliberating in her head. "But yes. Yoshino-san made a good dish. I could only think of three ways to improve on it."

"Well, no dish is perfect after all."

She flips her hair. " _Mine_ are closer to perfect than yours will ever be. Especially if you're going to keep up that peanut-butter squid combo. Now good-night, Yukihira."

It occurs to him as he watches her leave that maybe – just maybe, the quest to save her heart is not so very lost after all.


	2. Chapter 2: In Lieu of Waiting

**In Lieu of Waiting**

 **04:00 – Rebun Island – The Day of the RDC Final**

"I don't want to wait any more."

Yukihira glances up at her, and for a moment she's taken by the weariness in his face, the depth of the circles beneath his eyes. They've been shouting at each other for hours now, caught in a frenzy of passionate arguing, frenzied cooking, and the occasional 'moderated' session with one of their many friends and helpers. She can't deny that a part of her – a small part, had hoped for this outcome, that it would be her at the end with Yukihira by her side, partners in battle and and in victory.

The other part of her thinks she's made a terrible mistake – that it should be Megishima by her side, or Ishiiki, or someone else. _Anyone_ but the thick-headed son of her idol.

She's been drifting through both trains of thought all night – happy to be with him, and angry he won't see her side. So when he raises a dark red brow, all quizzical confusion and half-asleep denseness, she can't help but to respond with an irascible grunt. "Forget it," She snaps.

"Just tell me." Yukihira meanders over to her, quietly nudging a cup in her direction. Hisako had left them hours ago with over twenty choices of herbal tea, and she suspects he's been nursing one to stay awake since they'd left the competition hall. "Look, Nakiri, we're in this together whether you like it or not. Those are my friends out there too, same as you." He sits on the stool opposite her workstation, then looks up at her with a sternness she's not used to – least of all in his face. "Tell me."

The teacup warms her hands. She lets out a long sigh, and can't help but to slump forward over the cool steel, elbows and forearms at rest. She's used to looking down at Yukihira, so it surprises her a little, just how much warmer his amber eyes are when level with her own.

"I'm tired of waiting. It's exhausting. One moment I'm fired up and ready to fight my father, and the next I wonder – what if? What if I'm not ready, and what if I'm making a big mistake?" Something in her tenses up, and she has to physically bite down the torrent of emotions and memories that threaten to spill forth. _Not now, Nakiri._ "I want to go now, when I'm not afraid, when it seems possible that we could do this after all." She grits her teeth. "When I don't hate you and actually want to work with you."

He gives her an exasperated look. "And you think you'll hate me in the morning?"

"With you, it's a fine line."

"God, Nakiri, you really are something." Despite the severity of her words, Yukihira manages a laugh. She envies that. His ability to make light of things that could otherwise cage her for weeks. But when he smiles at her, it's soft – even a little understanding. "I don't know what you've been through, y'know – and it's terrible, I'm sure. We all have baggage. But we gotta keep on going, yeah? I promise I'll be there by your side, whether you hate me or whether you want me around. I'll be there."

She rolls her eyes. "Way to go trivialising my fears, dickhead."

He grins, and reaches out to her. For a moment, she wonders about his motives – but then he seems to think better of whatever he'd been thinking of doing, and drops his hands once more. "I'm not trivialising anything. I'm just saying you're the strongest cook in this room right now, and I have faith in you. So if anger helps – use it. Use your anger and hate to beat your father." His eyes gleam. "To beat me."

It's not much of a consolation, she knows. But, as he takes a sip of his tea, eyes never once leaving her own, she understands one thing: It'll have to be enough.


	3. Chapter 3: Blood in the Water

**Blood in the Water**

 **10:00 – Rebun Island – The Day of the RDC Final**

 _We'll never get free; we're lambs to the slaughter._

He shakes his head, gritting his teeth. Sometime in the past hour, he's become aware that his knuckles are hurting, the skin scraped raw from frenetic and repeated table-rapping. _When did this become a habit? Damnit, Yukihira – hold it together. How else are you gonna hold her together?_

Nakiri walks beside him, head held high with all the grace and elegance of a queen. He watches as she glances her father's way. She holds his gaze; he holds his breath. Her reaction is barely perceptible – the slightest twitch of her lip and the tensing of her fingers. Then she looks his way, and he manages a smile, one he hopes is enough to convey what he is is thinking.

 _You can do this, Nakiri. I'm with you._

She gives him a small nod, lilac eyes gleaming. Relief floods his senses – that, and something else he's too tired to think about. A warmth that spreads to the very tips of his fingers, one that causes his heart to thump just a little harder within his chest. _Adrenaline_ , the brain suggests.

They take their places at their workstations. Across the hall, Rindou and Eishi are already prepped and ready. Ever effervescent, Rindou waves, but there's a slight edge in her movements and he just can't shake the feeling that something is off.

His reverie is quickly broken, however, when Eishi mutters an order. Rindou nods, and he wonders for a moment if she were truly okay with this – serving as Eishi's right hand, bending the knee to the bridled order of his culinary path as opposed to following her own dangerous and infinitely chaotic road in the wilds. They're a true example of opposites, Rindou and Eishi, but Yukihira has to admit they're a well-oiled machine.

In contrast, he and Nakiri are significantly less-so.

The realisation hits him like a high-speed train with brakes on holiday. _Oh, fuck. Why the hell are we fighting order with order, when we should be doing the exact opposite?_

He takes a deep breath and rolls up his sleeves, his head spinning. Despite the very real possibility of Nakiri murdering him for his insubordination, he knows it has to be done. Prep is easy enough – he's done enough of it in Yukihira, and then again in Chef Shinomiya's kitchen. Urara's baiting had been harder to drown out in the early days of the Regiment de Cuisine, but he's gotten used to it by now and it's a relatively easy job to shut out the rest of the arena. Still, the incessant prickling of worry rears its ugly head from time to time. _Protect Yukihira. Protect our friends. Protect my father._ He looks to the blonde opposite him. _And her, too._

"Well, there's nothing for it now." He can't help but to let out a light laugh, unsure if it's nervousness or excitement. "Nakiri, I need you to taste some stuff."

She nods her agreement without even bothering to look up. He hands her spoon after spoon, adjusting as necessary. For a good while, he wonders if he'll actually have to spell it out for her after all – that he's turning their plan on its head to give her that one final, necessary push. The thought of actually having to tell her is a little daunting, so he shoves a sixth spoon at her, and watches as she tastes the sauce directly from his hand.

He barely has time to register how he feels about _that_ before her face scrunches up, and her brows furrow. Of course, nothing slips past Nakiri Erina. "Yukihira what—"

"Change of plans." He readies himself to duck from stray skillets to the head. "Remember when I said you have to use your anger to win? Yeah, you're going to be real pissed at me."

Nakiri reaches out to grasp his wrist, scowling. "Whatever happened to our plans? The recipes we decided on last night?"

"And how are we different from your father if we stuck to that? We can't fight their rigidity with more rigidity." He grits his teeth and leans closer. They're almost nose-to-nose and he's not sure what the arena is thinking of their little display, but they're short on time and she has to understand. "Show them. Show him what true creativity is like when it's uncaged. A bit of chaos is a good thing."

She glares at him, and for a moment he wonders why he hasn't melted from it just yet. Her throat tenses as she swallows – then she straightens, shakes her head, and lets out a short, irritable breath. "You're a piece of shit."

He chuckles weakly. There's blood in the water now. "You can shout at me tonight, I promise."


	4. Chapter 4: Salt, Pepper, and Eggs

**Salt, Pepper, and Eggs**

 **09:15 - Polar Star Dorm, Totsuki - Third Year**

Yukihira Soma is not her type. And yet, even as she watches him work, his leanly-muscled arms glistening from sweat and the soft morning sun, Nakiri Erina is ripe with the realisation that she is turned the hell on.

She doesn't like it.

He glances up at her with a grin mid-rake, beads of sweat running down the sides of his face. His hair is a mess, the damp crimson tendrils dipping low into his golden eyes. She imagines herself running her hands through them – then turns around so quickly her head spins.

"Don't like what you see, Nakiri?" The man in question trudges up behind her. It's not hard to imagine the shameless smirk on his face. "I know I'm not nearly as shameless as Isshiki-senpai, but I don't think I'm that bad."

"I'm not thinking of you at all." She busies herself with Tadokoro's breakfast onigiri, wrapping one in seaweed and shoving it in his general direction.

"Is that why you turned around fast enough to dislocate your skull?" Yukihira takes her offering, then ambles into her line of vision, wiping the sweat from his brow with a small towel. There's dirt on his light, loose shirt, and it's one she recognises from three weeks ago.

It was the night they'd gotten word on their third year Elite Ten placements. Alice, Ryo, Hayama, and The Aldinis had shown up at the dorm, as had the rest of their friends. It was a raucous party, with food and fighting a-plenty. Hayama and Ryo had gotten into some kind of unofficial Shokugeki over their third-and-fourth placings.

Much later, when Alice had dragged Ryo away by the ear, and when Hisako had _persuaded_ Hayama to go swimming in the nearby lake, she'd found herself alone in a closet with Yukihira, with nothing between them to hold back months of pent-up frustrations and sexual tension.

Then, it had been all too easy to blame Ryoko's _rice juice_ for the way his hands had slid beneath her blouse. For the way hers had tugged his shirt up, and then off over his head.

She doesn't have the luxury of that excuse anymore, though, and _the asshole knows it_. Still, they haven't discussed the incident, so she's not about to let on that he's just about melted her knees at this point.

"Just eat your damn onigiri. We have more work to do."

"Aye aye, Captain." He jerks his head towards the precious foil-wrapped pack on the wooden picnic table. "That from Chef Barber?"

"Yeah." They'd sent word to the New York-based Chef, requesting seeds for his famed high-carotenoid peppers. "Yuki's hens are ready, so as soon as we get the first peppers, we can add them to the feed. Then we wait for the eggs."

"Should be interesting." Yukihira grins, finishing off the remains of his breakfast. "Egg-based cuisine is kind of our thing, isn't it?"

She glares at him. "It's not always about you, you know."

"That isn't really about me, though." Yukihira pours a cup of tea and nudges it towards her. "It's more about us."

She barely has time to register his words. For his part, Yukihira seems to treat that little confirmation - that there's an 'us' at all - with zero reverence. _Classic Yukihira - everything is simple._ She hates to admit it, but it's a little heartening to hear the confirmation from the man himself - the state of limbo they'd been in following their little tryst isn't exactly her cup of tea.

"What are you talking about?" She grits her teeth, then snatches up her seeds. "There isn't really an us, unless you think one drunken night is enough to win my affections."

"I know exactly what shoujo mangas you read, but keep going, love." Yukihira tosses aside his towel before reaching for her hand, his laugh a light, amused thing. "We've got all day for you to pretend you barely tolerate me."

"You're such a piece of shit. Couldn't you have brought this up three weeks ago?" Try as she might, she can't really bring herself to be angry at him. The thought is somewhat disconcerting. She settles on being huffy instead.

Yukihira lets out a sheepish chuckle, rubbing the back of his head with his one free hand. "I wasn't really sure where you stood. But I sorta figured, you know - it doesn't matter where you stand. You still deserve to know how I feel." A pause, as he meets her eyes. "And I do. Want to be with you, that is."

She feels her scowl fade. When he leans over, his lips barely grazing her own, she allows herself to let go - to sink into his warmth.

When she can feel her legs again, and when breathing becomes less difficult, she manages a response. "Fine. We're a couple. Don't make a big deal out of it."

He kisses her again. "No promises."


	5. Chapter 5: The First Goodbye

**The First Goodbye is the Hardeset**

 **12:03 - Polar Star Dorm, Totsuki - Pre-Le Cordon Bleu**

"That'sthe last of it." Yukihira grunts as he shoves the last of her tan leather suitcase set – a smallish nightcase – into the back of her trunk. It's only twelve in the afternoon, but she's already exhausted.

A small part of her is begging to stay. But Nakiri Erina _does not beg_ , and least of all to someone like Yukihira Souma. Not even if he _has_ been her boyfriend for a whole twelve months.

"Thanks." She tries for casual indifference, but hears her voice crack anyway.

Earlier in the week, they'd said their goodbyes to the others. With Alice and Ryou en-route to Sweden to start their internship under Chef Magnus Nilssen of Faviken and with Megumi and the Aldinis deployed to Massimo Bottura's Osteria Francescana in Modena, the Polar Star Dorm was already much quieter than usual. Hisako had left not two days ago, Harvard-bound and ready to undertake her Bachelor's.

She hasn't seen Hayama since, but last she'd heard, he'd accepted an apprenticeship in a four-star establishment in Massachusetts.

According to Yukihira, he'd vehemently denied it had anything at all to do with Hisako, nevermind that it would place him exactly 30 minutes away. Everybody saw through the act immediately. Nobody thought to tease him for it. After all, too many of them were suffering the exact same thing. Parting.

Not everybody had the luxury of attaching themselves to their better halves the way Alice did.

She lets out a sigh, suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of incomprehensible loneliness. Yukihira arches a brow at her, and she barely manages a smile as she dumps her satchel into the back seat.

Then, she holds out her arms.

Grinning, he pulls her in, his own arms wrapping themselves about her. She feels his hands on her back, warm, rough, and somewhat tenser than usual. He'd really bulked up in their third year; a direct result of Artisanal Bread 101, she thinks. She lets out a breath, and allows herself, for just that moment, to sink into him.

He smells like clean soap and fresh laundry. Herbs, mint and oregano and basil. Talc, and that godawful cologne she's grown used to over the years. She counts the seconds and etches the memory of his arms, his warmth, and his heartbeat into her mind. _This is what home feels like._

"I still don't see why the hell you need to run through two years at Le Cordon Bleu. You've just graduated top of the class at Tootsuki, for gods' sake." There's amusement in his voice. He's always been better with parting. She thinks it's his unfailing optimism. _We'll see each other again,_ he'd said, the first time she'd brought it up. _So don't worry so much, Nakiri._

"If I have to head Tootsuki one day, I need to know how the other top establishments are doing it. It was either Le Cordon Bleu or Alma." She lets out a sigh, unwilling to let go just yet. "And you didn't want to come with."

"That's not really my sort of thing, Nakiri." He pulls back a little, and she watches, mesmerised, as his crimson lashes catch in the sunlight. "Anyway, I'll let you know once I've made concrete plans with Chef Shinomiya. If I do."

" _Potentially_ Paris." The words give her far too much hope. _And potentially not Paris._ She swallows, then pushes away, suddenly resolute. "And we're agreed. Until we're both on solid ground again, we're broken up."

Yukihira has the decency to look a little torn, but they've discussed the subject half to death at this point. He nods, and she has to physically ground herself when his hands find her cheeks, fingers brushing lightly at the sides of her neck. "We're broken up."

He kisses her then, lightly, affectionately. It's nowhere near as fiery as their first, nor as desperate as those stolen in the nights she wakes from nightmares. Today's kiss is sweet and warm, the perfect culmination of their shared past. A break-up kiss. A goodbye kiss. An 'I'll see you again' kiss.

She leans into him. _Just a minute longer._ "I love you, you idiot."

His chest rumbles with unspoken amusement, and he presses a kiss to her forehead. "And I love you."


	6. Chapter 6: A Tentative Reunion

**A Tentative Reunion**

 **08:07 - London - 5 years post-Totsuki**

It's a little past eight when the disgruntled strawberry-blonde steps out from his bedroom, waist-length braid tousled and unravelled, wearing nothing but his rumpled black shirt. She glances at him, then at the stacked luggage bags by the front door before remarking, her voice clipped, "What were you planning on doing if I didn't get up? Leave me alone in your house?"

He grins. There's a spread on the kitchen island – Greek yogurt, oat pancakes, fresh fruit, and Norwegian pancakes. "My flight isn't until two. You had at least three hours to sleep in."

She pads over to him and settles into one of the low-backed barstools. At the recommendation of an ex-girlfriend, he'd bought them some years back – after his and Nakiri's inevitable parting and subsequent break-up, and before their unexpected reunion the night before. And as he watches her pour herself a cup of coffee, he can't help but wonder why it is _this_ woman looks so much better than the last.

Something in his gut stirs, and as he leans over to pour some milk into her steaming cup, he catches her eye. She raises a brow, haughty as ever. "What?"

"Nothing," He tells her. "You're just really pretty, is all."

Nakiri rolls her eyes. "I don't remember having this many hickeys, ever. Thanks for that, you piece of shit."

"You don't really mind." He pauses. The old Nakiri – the one he knew, wouldn't have minded. "Do you?"

Nakiri doesn't respond. Still, he catches her watching him as she sips at her coffee, lilac eyes peering over the edge of her mug ever so often. He plates a pancake for her – crème fraiche, fresh mangoes, blueberries, and just a splash of lime. It's delicious, he knows, but in true Nakiri fashion, the only indication of his culinary prowess is an empty plate.

"Well?" He settles into the chair opposite hers and pours himself another cup of coffee. "What're you doing here, Nakiri?"

"You shoved your tongue down my throat last night."

"That goes without saying. I mean, what're you doing in London?"

He'd just wrapped up after-work drinks with his chefs at a nearby pub. They'd closed early following a review with one of the bigwigs in Bon Appetit and the team had been in good spirits. It was somewhere near their third round of beers that he noticed the girl at the bar – long blonde hair, slender legs and biceps to kill.

It wasn't until Nakiri had spoken that he realised even realised it was her.

Most of the evening is a blur to him. He recalls bits and pieces. She was wearing a dark red dress. Earrings and heels. Her usual prickly – and yet endearing – attitude. It's been all of five years, and he's still a fool for her. _You're an idiot._ He can hear Ryou and Hayama in the back of his mind, both chiding, and yet equally guilty. _You're a goddamned idiot._

"One of my friends from Le Cordon Bleu is getting married this weekend, and that pub is on the list for her hen's night." Nakiri unties her braid and flips it to one side. He counts one hickey. Two. Five. "Anyway, I wasn't expecting to see you. You look like you're doing well."

He grins. "I'm perfectly aware you saw me at my worst last night, Nakiri. But thanks for that. You're doing well too, yeah? I saw you got your second star."

She shrugs a shoulder. "Alice did, too, so it's not a big deal." A pause. The light catches in her hair and perfectly-manicured nails as she continues to rake through the tresses. "You're settled here, then? London's home now?"

"For now." He glances about the apartment. It's been two years since he'd moved in, and one since his then-girlfriend had moved out. "You were right. I just needed to lay down some roots and get to work. I couldn't keep doing what dad's doing full time – that's not me."

The barest hint of a smile curls Nakiri's lips. She doesn't say it, but the sentiment is more than clear in the woman's smirk. "Well, I'm glad. You look happy."

"I am. Content, anyway." And he is. She meets his eyes again, and suddenly, it doesn't matter that they'd parted on terrible terms, and that he'd spent the year following their break-up angry, confused, and bitter. _She's here now._ "Why did you stay last night?"

Sir rolls her eyes. "You asked me to."

"And you did?" _That's a first_.

"Don't push it." A soft flush rises. Nakiri's never been one for excessive and overt affection, even in private. But deep down, he knows she's missed him – how could she not, when he's spent about as much time missing her?

So he takes her hand, and relishes in the way she flares up at first, haughty and irate. "Thanks, Nakiri. And I'm really glad we got a chance to catch up again. It's…" He pauses, trying to find the right words. "…it's been a strange few years."

Nakiri's lips twitch. She meets his eyes. "Yeah, well. Nobody said the culinary road was going to be easy." The hand in his withdraws as the woman finishes her coffee. Lilac eyes shift their focus, studying their surroundings, eventually landing upon his luggage. "When will you get back?"

"Friday. I'm just flying to Denmark for a quick consult. You gonna be here when I get back?"

Nakiri barely smiles this time. "Yes."

"Good." He gets up and begins to pile empty dishes into his sink. "Got a date for the wedding?"

"Not just yet." The blonde flips her hair and crosses her arms. Despite the tone of her voice, there's amusement – warmth, even. "But some asshole gave me a ton of hickeys last night, so I'm thinking I'll have one after all."

He kisses her neck lightly. "I'll pick you up."


	7. Chapter 7: In Limbo - Part I

**In Limbo - Part I**

 **10:34 - Norway - January**

She wakes to a world blanketed in white, the cloudless sky a soft, gentle grey. Albeit beautiful, it's cold, and staying in bed between her thick quilted blankets seems a far better idea than getting out to turn up the thermostat. So she snuggles deeper into a fortress of Egyptian silk and plush pillows, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

It's only then that she realises the bed is suspiciously lonely, with no warm limbs to tangle in between her own, no firm, wiry arms to hold her, nor stroke her hair.

"Yukihira?"

Peering through the open door of her bedroom, she calls out to him again. There's no answer.

She lets out a choice expletive and sits up, jostling sheets and pillows. Once bundled up in three and a half layers, she makes her way downstairs, a pair of Yukihira's socks over her feet and another used as gloves. There's a pot of coffee ready, and a handwritten note beside a small jug of milk reads: "Drink me."

"Yukihira?"

She finds him out at the front door of their little rental cottage, pink-cheeked and hard at work. He glances up with a grin as she exits, waving lightly despite the shovel he's currently occupied with. "I thought you'd like to sleep in. Are you hungry? I made ricotta hotcakes."

"They'll be frozen solid by now." Out in the open, it's plain to see that they're not going anywhere. Their car is half-covered by mounds of the stuff, which is piled up to half the windows on the lower floor. She hands off her coffee and watches as Yukihira takes a long drink, the steam rising to paint his face an even warmer shade.

Despite everything that's happened between them since their high-school 'break-up', she has to concede she's touched. It's common knowledge that Yukihira has a habit of taking good care of the people around him –especially when 'people' constitutes one Nakiri Erina. She loves it. She hates it. She wishes he'd let her do the same. Especially since now they're meant to be 'together' again, whatever the hell that means.

"The batter's resting on the countertop, so no, they aren't frozen solid." He blinks, as if suddenly aware that she _isn't really listening_ , then arches a brow before reaching out to brush a fleck of snow off her cheek. "What is it? Nakiri, you okay?"

She snatches back her coffee. There's no way she's letting on how damn vulnerable he makes her feel – not when they've got a real problem on their hands. "Nothing. I guess this means we're missing our dinner reservations tonight? Did we really just make plans to meet halfway across the world for some alone time, only to be snowed in?"

"It's not that bad, being snowed in. We could keep each other warm. "Yukihira lets out a sheepish chuckle, then gestures towards the narrow walkway he's managed to shovel through. "And anyway, the good news is that we can still walk to the village and get what we need to make a world class dinner."

"In this mishmash of things? I don't think so." And she knows she's right – two knobbly jumpers and an old ratty cardigan do not an outfit make. She'd packed for late autumn. They'd gotten a mid-winter wonderland instead.

"Hm." Yukihira tosses aside the shovel, then ushers her back indoors. Once safely tucked away behind closed doors, he kisses her lips once, and then again. "You don't have to. I can go. There's coffee and milk and breakfast to tide you over first." A pause – then a rugged, rogue-ish grin surfaces. "And the cellar's fully stocked."

"Wine for breakfast? What would Hisako say?"

He pushes her up against the wall, evidently with intentions to make good the promise of 'keeping one another warm'. She can't say she minds. His breath warms against her throat. "She'd most likely lie about all the times she's done the same, with Hayama. Why should we take our doctors' orders from her?"

His mouth finds hers again. And, she has to concede, as his hands slide beneath her jumpers, and as he hoists her up so that her legs wrap about his waist – _the man has a point._


	8. Chapter 8: In Limbo - Part II

**In Limbo - Part II**

 **22:30 - London - February  
**

Ask anyone and they'll tell you Nakiri Erina is anything but a romantic. Her hours are too long and her responsibilities too widespread. Between juggling her two restaurants and her responsibilities at Tootsuki, she hardly has time for a bubble bath, let alone a whirlwind romance.

Yet there she is, two timezones from her current home, with her livelihood in the hands of her sous chefs, naked in a bed she hasn't slept in since September and completely, utterly alone.

 _This is the last time I'm listening to Alice. You absolute idiot._

She doesn't know who she's angrier at – Alice, herself, or the man whose bed she's currently in.

Two hours into The Crown on Netflix and half a bottle of Bordeaux later, her phone buzzes. Annoyed, she swipes to answer, and practically snarls into the receiver. Earlier, she'd accidentally unearthed a pair of black lace-and-silk briefs from his laundry basket. To add insult to injury in her current precarious situation, she doesn't even recognise them. "What?"

Silence precedes a vague, helpless chuckle. "Nakiri, are you almost done already?"

"Done what?" She really should've gone hours ago, but a combination of spite and broken-heartedness keeps her rooted.

"With service. I didn't fly all the way to Santorini to drink by myself at your bar."

Her breath catches in her throat. "You're in Santorini?"

"Landed four hours ago." He pauses, and she can practically hear the gears clicking in his head, and the horror in his voice. "Nakiri. Why is it so quiet where you are?"

"I'm not at the restaurant." She sits up in bed, and suddenly it hurts to even speak, to even acknowledge the fact that he is there waiting for her when there are foreign panties in his washbasket. "I thought you'd be out on a date with some leggy blonde."

"You _are_ the leggy blonde." The background sounds fade, and Yukihira's voice grows louder. She supposes he's made his exit. "Are you out on a date with some muscled Adonis?"

"I caught a flight to London this afternoon." She tries for indignance. What comes out is a glum, almost defeated mumble.

Silence again. When Yukihira speaks up again, his voice is touched by amusement. "What exactly were you planning on doing if I'd actually brought a leggy blonde back home to find you in my bed?"

"I guess we'll never know."

Yukihira laughs. "The panties are yours, in case you're wondering. I found them last week." He quietens, and his voice grows serious. "There's… no one else."

"Oh." The words refuse to come. But if she's honest, she's not even surprised any more. All of seven years, three lovers, and five moves across two continents later, she's still hung up on her high school boyfriend.

Apparently, he's done about as well forgetting her.

"Nakiri."

"Yeah?"

"Stay there."

She hugs his pillow to her chest. It smells like him. "I won't have too long."

"That's okay." Yukihira's voice softens – the way it always does before he pulls her in for a kiss. It's hard to believe she'd ever left him at all. "I have a belated Valentine's gift for you."

And as she mumbles in soft affirmation, she wonders how she could ever bear to leave him again.


	9. Chapter 9: In Limbo - Part III

**In Limbo - Part III**

 **22:00 – Florence - October  
**

It had started out as a feeling, and before she'd known it, it had grown into a hope. She hasn't seen Yukihira since that one week in London, but he's been keeping in touch, instant messages and e-mails and the occasional Facebook query about recipes. It's new, and it's fresh. Considering the lack of communication between their last break-up and their unexpected (but welcome) reunion, Erina had to admit it was pretty damn magical.

The hope, though, is getting far too much to bear, the warm, fuzzy feeling in her belly growing stronger with every message and Facetime session they shared.

She hates him for it. And more than that – she hates herself for falling back into this trap. They'd been dancing around each other since high school, and it had taken the better part of two long years after to understand that Yukihira would be The One That Got Away. She'd only just started being okay with it, only just realised that she could love him and still let him go.

And then she'd had the rotten dumb luck to run into him in London.

Their reunion had opened a whole new can of worms. Feelings and memories she hadn't thought of in forever came rushing back, and she found herself craving his touch, aching into the night when his warm, rough hands were far from reach, and his heart even further. When the week had ended, she'd thought things would go back to normal – she'd even said as much to Alice, but her cousin had only laughed in her face.

"Dream on, Erina. You're both idiots," her cousin had said.

It's been a long day of work, and she's exhausted by the time she's washed and dried and bundled up in a thick, woollen bathrobe. As much as she hates to admit it, Alice is right. Things _had_ changed – not just between Yukihira and herself, but also in the way she saw herself. Where she'd once balked at the _preposterous_ idea of leaving work on time to go out on dates, she now found herself wishing that Yukihira would come and drag her away on one of their adventures – tasting new things and seeing new sights and stealing moments to themselves, hands on skin, mouths and bodies entwined.

She lets out a sigh. _Fuck_.

Her phone buzzes on the bed. She swipes to answer, and doesn't even need to look at the screen to know that it's him. "What's up?"

Yukihira chuckles lightly on the other end. "Am I interrupting?"

"No." She flips over one of her pillows, then throws herself into bed. The soft thump more than stifles her grunt of pleasure, and she sinks into the plush pillows and mattress with a sigh. "I'm home and in bed. Did you just close up?"

There's a long pause on the other end of the phone, and she thinks she hears the unmistakeable sound of Trenitalia's stop announcer.

Her breath catches in her throat. _Is he…?_

"I'm actually on a train," Yukihira coughs, and suddenly, she knows what's coming.

The man had never been able to resist making a grand gesture – and she'd never been able to resist _him_ for it.

"Go on."

He lets out a sigh. "You already know what I'm about to say."

"Yes," She tells him, feeling her cheeks flush. "But you don't say it."

"I'm an hour from Florence, so you'd better still be awake when I get there." Despite the exasperated tone of voice he adopts at present, she knows the man is wearing that stupidly charming, sheepish grin. And it chills her to the core, just how bright the hope burns within her.

She doesn't want to set herself up for disappointment. Again.

So she tries for detachment. "Fine. Bring food."

"I'll make us something." Another pause. She wonders if he's about to hang up – but then he speaks up, and the hope flares again. "And Nakiri? We… we need to talk."


	10. Chapter 10: Leaving on a Jetplane

**Leaving on a Jetplane**

 **19:23 – Hawke's Bay, New Zealand – Six months after Florence**

"Yeah, all my bags are packed. I'm ready to go. _Of course_ I'm ready – I'm at the airport."

For a Wednesday, the airport is packed with locals and travellers alike. He sighs, glancing down at his flight details – two layovers in Hong Kong and Zurich, both lasting far longer than he is physically and mentally ready for. Still, he's taken to flying first class as of late, so his check-in line is markedly shorter than others.

He's looking forward to a very large gin-and-tonic and the possibility of passing out in-flight.

"Did you get the wine I asked for?" Nakiri's end of the line is busy as always. It's eleven in the morning Italian time, and the kitchen staff and cooks of Effréné will have begun their daily prep work and mise en place. By all accounts, it's a miracle she'd even found time to ring him.

He supposes that means she's actually missed him this time around. The thought is enough to bring butterflies to his stomach – an unfamiliar feeling to be certain, but one he's happy to accommodate where Nakiri is concerned.

After all, he's spent so long dedicating his cooking to her that it seems fitting she should be the first and last to hold his heart.

He hoists his bag up onto the ramp, a light smile touching his lips, eliciting one from the stewardess behind the counter. "D'you know how far Waiheke Island is from Greenhill Lodge? I had to bribe my way into Wild Estates, and even then I _still_ had to name-drop you to buy up the last of their stocks."

"How many bottles did you get out of that?"

He can't help but to chuckle. "Two crates. Should be enough to keep you in Syrah for weeks."

"Really? That's all I get?"

"Well, believe it or not, commercial airlines have a limit to the amount of stuff you can check in. This is going to cost me a fortune in duty."

The stewardess lets out a laugh, and he favours her with a wink. _This girl I'm seeing_ , he mouths. _She's a handful._

 **13:45 – Zurich – The next day**

He's exhausted.

As far as flights from hell have gone, Yukihira has to admit he's never feared as much for his life. He'd been halfway through his second leg from Hong Kong when the captain's voice had come on over the PA – light-hearted enough so as to not incur in-flight mass hysteria, and yet stern enough to be obvious that something had gone horribly wrong.

 _We'd like for you all to remain calm as we sort this out. In the meantime, please allow our stewards and stewardesses to assist you. Listen to their instructions and remain in your seats with your seatbelts on._

The deafening screams of the passengers back in coach are still ringing in his ears when he disembarks. There are food stains and broken shards on the ground, but he barely registers the crunching of glass beneath his boots as he steps into the safety of the airport. It's a short walk to the restroom, and he barely makes it to the sink before the stresses of the past six hours come up.

His throat is burning when he finishes, and he looks up to the mirror to see himself pale, eyes red-rimmed and nose a bright reindeer-red. He rises out his mouth, ignoring the three separate looks of disgust from his fellow fliers. It takes him five minutes to wash last night's dinner down the sink, and then another five to clean himself.

His hands are still shaking when he pulls his phone from his pocket.

Over thirty missed calls from Nakiri and several long, ranting messages from his other friends.

The PA system jolts him back to the present; in his shock, his hands slip, and the phone crashes to the ground. He stares mutely at the shattered screen, barely registering the fact that his next scheduled flight to Florence will soon be ready for boarding.

 _I'm not getting on that fucking plane._

As expected, Nakiri is in a state when he finally manages to ring her. He assures her that he's alright and perfectly alive, and she responds the only way she knows how – with some half-hearted barb about how he would never dare to die on her fucking watch. He has to commend her efforts and ability to somewhat hold it together.

The quavering in her voice is enough to cue him in. _Come home, Yukihira. Come home right now._

He makes his way through Duty Free in a daze, and doesn't even remember how he gets to his luggage. Someone from the airline talks at him – something about his checked crates suffering some form of damage in turbulence. He nods numbly as compensation and cleaning is discussed, and then a bag is shoved into his hands and he's ushered into a cab to the train station.

All the while, only one thought lingers: _I almost left her behind again._

The guilt cuts deeper than fear.

 **22:45 – San Marco, Florence – Hours later**

Nakiri is home when he turns the key into her Florentian apartment. He's barely made it through the door before she's on him, hands gripping the front of his shirt and face pressed into his chest, and it's all he can do to assure her he's there in the flesh, safe and alive. When she lifts her face, he manages a smile, the sight of her face warming him deep into his core.

"I've never seen you cry this hard," He says. That earns him a punch to the side, but then her lips are on his and her tears are wetting his face.

"I hate you. I fucking hate you."

He kisses the top of her head, grateful he'd managed to clean up on the train. "I know. I'm sorry I scared you. Can I come in?"

She guides him into her living room. There's a teapot on her coffee table, and he recognises the herbal scent from a memory long tucked away. When he sits down, she glances his way, hand to on handle and an empty glass in the other.

"I, uh." He digs into his backpack and pulls out the sole surviving bottle of red. "I have something a little bit stronger. The rest broke."

She barely manages a smile. "I'm never letting you travel alone again, you know that, right?"

He chuckles heartily, then reaches aside to the bar cart to pull over two crystal wineglasses. "Because I can't even be trusted to keep your precious wine safe, right?"

"No."

They sit in silence as he pours the wine. She downs her glass without pause, and he's acutely aware of her eyes upon him, the lilac dark and misted over. It's a look he recognises, he thinks – a mixture of pride and fear and anxiety all bundled together in the every look and every touch.

"You know," He breaks the silence by setting down his glass, then turns on the couch to face her, crossing his legs beneath him. "The last time you looked at me like this, we were seventeen, and you had only just told me you were going to Le Cordon Bleu."

She nods. "And you told me we'd find a way to stick together."

The subtext is all too clear: _We failed._

He takes her hands. "We're together now. Nakiri, I'm done with this." Panic flashes briefly in her eyes, and he has to physically hold her hands down to keep her from bolting away from him, off the couch. "No, not like that. I mean I'm done with this arrangement we have. I'm done with waiting weeks just to spend some time with you. You want to know what I thought up there, when things were flying around and people were screaming?"

Nakiri shakes her head. He barely notices her nails digging into his palms.

"Three things. I thought I was going to die, and that my last words to you would have been 'you'd better be in those panties when I get home'. And then I thought they'd call you to identify my body – only they wouldn't, because how would they know to, if we don't even know what we are?" He swallows, looking down at their intertwined hands. "The last thing I thought of was that I had to marry you. And I want to."

She's stunned into silence just then. Nakiri Erina has never been one to openly show her affections, so he's not exactly surprised it takes her this long to compute. But when he finally dares himself to look back up, he's greeted by the sight of eyes wide open, shock and panic prevalent in her expression.

He clears his throat. "What's on your mind, Nakiri?"

She rolls her eyes, a soft, scoffing sound escaping her just moments after. "I _was_ in those panties, but you got into trouble and I could barely function, let alone think of _that_."

"Really?" He squints at her. "Out of everything I said, _that's_ what you're gonna comment on?"

"Shut up." Nakiri launches herself at him again, arms and legs and the warmth of her body crashing roughly into him. Her lips find his, and she kisses him hard, hands fisting against his chest. When she finally pulls away, her breath warms his face. There's a gleam in her eyes. _She's back._ "You're not getting away with a near-death proposal. When you do it, I want to know you _mean_ it – not because your thoughts are all jumbled up. You hear me?"

He grins. Relief floods his senses. _That's as good as a yes_. Adrenaline exhausted, he leans forward. When their foreheads meet, she shuts her eyes.

He wonders if he'll ever see anything as beautiful.

"I hear you," He whispers.


	11. Chapter 11: Dressed to Impress

**Dressed to Impress**

 **19:45 - Tokyo, Japan - Newlyweds**

"Nakiri."

Fighting back the knowing smirk fast creeping into her features, Nakiri Erina turns to face her boyfriend. The shimmering, sequined skirt of her dress follows suit, the thigh-high slit dragging, sinuous and slow, over her skin. She watches as Yukihira's eyes trail over the fitted bodice, the voluminous satin straps hanging loose over her shoulders, barely able to contain her smugness.

It's as his eyes are drifting to her bare collarbone that she clears her throat, breaking the silence. "What?"

"I know you're an heiress with assets, but is it really necessary to show them all off like this?" Despite his words, Yukihira is grinning, and she suspects he's a little bit dazed.

Exactly the reaction she'd intended to incite when she'd bought the dress.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Besides, are we forgetting that daring little backless number Kobayashi-senpai wore at last year's awards gala?"

"I count exactly three straps holding up your breasts right now, so let's not point fingers," Yukihira points out.

She clasps her hands to her waist, puffing up her chest, causing the man before her to let out a quiet, gutteral cough. "I daresay it has the desired effect, though."

"Does it, now?" He's right in front of her now, hands moving to press themselves into the small of her back, warm, rough, hard. She imagines them hiking up her skirt, slipping beneath the slit, pulling down the zipper. Damn this boy, he knew exactly how to play her, and she'd dance to his beat every single time.

It's as he's kissing her neck that she finally remembers where they're meant to be. Letting out a yelp, she shoves him lightly, then pulls his head up for a quick, hard kiss. "Okay, maybe I didn't count on it being this effective."

"What exactly did you have in mind?" Yukihira's a little breathless, but falls into beat easily enough. He's used to it by now – after all, his girlfriend is a _very_ busy woman. "Because if you keep this up, I'm going to end up sitting through a three-hour awards ceremony with a very awkward bulge between my legs."

 _We can solve that with a quick trip to the restrooms._

She doesn't verbalise that thought. Instead, she tries for her best smug smile, kisses him again, then turns away to finish getting ready. "I was just thinking you could help me out of this dress tonight." Diamond-crusted earrings go on; then a simple, but sparkling bracelet of similar design. "I'll repay you well for your patience."

And does she ever.


	12. Chapter 12: The Hardest Part

**The Hardest Part of Loving You**

 **21:59 - Toyko, Japan - The day of a public shootout**

It's bright when she wakes. Overly bright. Overhead, what looks a cross between stadium spotlights and alien spaceships hovers, blurring her vision and clouding her mind. The world is a blur, the silence a defeaning vacuum that brings to mind the incessant hum of oldschool television static. She wants to throw up – she wants to scream. She wants to touch her swollen belly, to check that the baby is well and alive.

Instead, Nakiri Erina does none of the above. A wave of nausea washes over her, and it's all she can do to blink, unfocused, for hope of clarity. When she tries to speak, she's surprised to find she can't, and even moreso when it becomes apparent that there is a tube down her throat.

She panics, but her body refuses to move. Her hearing returns, and it's to the din and panic of voices talking over her. The words she can make out do not bring any respite.

When she gives herself over to sleep once again, it's her husband's face she sees, and his voice she hears.

He's laying by her side in the single hospital bed when she wakes, his nose pressed right up against her neck and his arms around her deflated middle. There's a small, but noticeable wet patch on the shoulder of her gown.

It isn't until she tries for a long, deep breath that he lifts his head. Dark circles and red rings line his eyes. "You're awake. Are you thirsty?"

She swallows. Sometime between her surgery and now, someone's seen fit to remove the tube in her throat. She nods tiredly; he sits up, pours the water, and holds the plastic cup, straw and all, to her mouth.

The memory of their last night is fuzzy, but she remembers enough. A stubbornly self-righteous executive chef from one of the nation's top hotels – one she remembers from a food consultation three months prior. No doubt driven to jealousy and madness by her less-than-glowing review and subsequent recommendations.

He'd had a gun. Yukihira had jumped in front of her, pushing her to the ground and catching the bullet in his own body. She remembers his blood on her dress, and then she remembers her own blood blooming between her legs. Her water had broken in the fall.

She remembers screaming for her husband, even as she'd screamed for her baby.

The bandages around Yukihira's left arm, not to mention his presence, cements the fact that he, at least, had survived it all. She prepares herself for the worst. "The baby?"

"You went into premature labour." Yukihira's voice is just a note from breaking, but the man has always been a master at keeping it together in difficult situations. "She's in intensive care."

"She's alive?"

"For now." The deep amber eyes waver, and the man himself swallows, clearly fighting back a sob. Still, he keeps it together. "Ryo and Alice are flying in. The gunman's been apprehended. I'm going to make sure he's put away for life, I promise you."

She guides him forward. He's afraid. The realisation hits close to home – all the moreso because she knows the same sentiment lives within her own broken self.

 _I'm afraid too._ It's all too easy to name the source of the fear. _I could have died. He could have died. We could have had to live without each other._

"Hold me, will you?"

Yukihira leans into her then. Wordlessly. He's obviously cried some over the past few hours – and he does so again, the salt trickling from his face to hers. Against the skin of her neck and close to her ears, the man sobs. His hands find her own. His breaths are hot, his words those of adoration, fear, and regret.

It's not often she gets the chance, but now that she has it, she understands what it means to play the protector. So she kisses him fiercely and holds him tight, running her hands through his sweat-damp hair. "I love you," She tells him, fighting through shaky breaths. "I love you."

"I'm weak." He trembles against her. "I almost lost you."

"Lost me? You saved me. In more ways than one." She shakes his hands off her own and cups his face, forcing him to look at her. "Yukihira. You're strong. I care about you, and I'm your wife, so please – please let me share your fears. Please let me take care of you, the way you take care of me."

The amber eyes waver once again. "Our daughter."

"Will be just fine, if she's anything like her mother." And really, she believes it.

He stares at her. The seconds pass, and then slowly, but surely, the resolve returns. The tears dry.

"Has anybody ever told you that you're one hell of a woman?"

She nuzzles into his cheek, suddenly tired once again. Sleep would be so sweet. "Save that for when we send that bastard to prison."


	13. Chapter 13: Rebel Heart

**Rebel Heart**

 **23:14 – Totsuki, Japan – Four months after the Regiment de Cuisine**

He'd told her once that she'd had a rebel heart; she wasn't sure she believed him, but it was evident, even then, that Yukihira had seen something in her – something that had clearly struck a chord close to home. She hasn't been a rebel in a while now, though – hasn't had much time to relax with the dust still settling from the collapse of her father's regime.

Erina Nakiri hates to admit defeat, but even she has to acknowledge that the work is taking its toll. She's exhausted, and it's all she can do to remain calm as her first seat had questioned her intentions for sending him away.

Despite Hisako and Tadokoro's best efforts, they had ended up arguing long into the night after all. By the time they're done shouting at one another, the sky is a deep shade of blue, stars and moon aglow. She's sitting by the window, winded and agitated, and for a moment she can't help but wonder how exactly they'd managed to work together to overthrow the previous regime at all.

Yukihira evidently reads her without a hitch – the man strides up to her side and peers into the sky. She catches the faintest glimpse of a smile.

"This is kinda like that night in the train, isn't it?"

She rolls her eyes. "Except I hadn't just spent the night yelling at you then."

He laughs, and the anger abates. Something flutters inside her – something she hasn't yet had the time to acknowledge.

In lieu of any verbal response, Erina can only scowl.

"You know, Nakiri, there's a very simple solution to that. Just stop shouting."

"You're so thick-headed sometimes that it's the only way it'll get through!"

"I heard you," He sighs, then shoves her legs gently aside to make room for himself on the cushioned bay window seat. She wiggles aside a little to allow his feet room by her hips, her own settling in close by his. "Go to this town with Tadokoro. Find out what the hell is going on. Don't set anything on fire. Don't make unnecessary waves. Come back in one piece."

She bristles at the mention of Tadokoro. The mere thought of it is enough to make her snap.

She'd really been looking forward to a break from administration work.

"Yes," She grumbles. "Come back and help me with this paperwork that's been piling up."

Yukihira smirks. "You _are_ aware the stack's only so high because you're pedantic as all hell, right?"

"No." She fights back the urge to kick him in the chest. "You see that stack over there? It's the new course materials we've been working on to include the new suggestions raised in our last meeting. That stack over there? Budget approvals. This stack over here, interviews with the newspapers and magazines. I had to fill in your portion of that Saveur Japan article, by the way. You're welcome."

At that, Yukihira has the decency to look a little bit embarrassed, letting out a soft, sheepish chuckle. He runs a hand through his hair – it's shorter now, closer cropped at the sideburns to give him a dastardly rogueish appearance. He knows it too, the bastard – more than once, she's caught several underclassmen giggling in his direction, only to immediately witness him turning to her with a wink and a smile, as if to say, 'Right?'.

Unlike Alice, who's been throwing hissy fits for two weeks straight, she hasn't decided how she feels about Yukihira's groupies.

"I'm sure you put in all the PR-correct responses, Nakiri. You're good at that stuff," He looks up at her, his smile softening a bit – the way it does whenever he's about to say something serious. And sure enough, he does. "I just don't think you should work yourself so hard. You should be coming with me. Whatever happened to the Queen who was no longer content to sit pretty while the troops went to work?"

She sighs. "Do my ears deceive me, or did you just call me pretty?"

"Stop dodging the question. Is it always gonna be like this?"

Yukihira's eyes are focused upon her face, and oddly enough, the intensity of his gaze it makes her a little uncomfortable. It's never bothered her before – but lately, things have been different. There's something in the air, she thinks, something that changes the way friends of different genders looked at one another.

The streak of irritation rises once more. _It's not Tadokoro's fault everyone else is busy as shit this week. It's not Tadokoro's fault she has to go with him._ If she reminds herself enough times, she thinks she might stop resenting the tenth seat for her good fortune.

"I don't know." She answers as honestly as she can. "Things are still crazy right now."

Yukihira sighs. "I know," He admits. "I guess I was just hoping to spend more time with you now that we're friends." A pause – then a smile spreads slowly across his face, warming her heart like butter on toast. "You're kind of great, Nakiri."

"And in contrast, you suck," She tells him, drawing a laugh from the man. "But I kind of like you too."

 **19:42 – Windvane Baths, A Certain Prefecture's Hot Spring Town – Three days later**

Contrary to his original belief that their little mission would leave time for some rest and relaxation, Yukihira is exhausted beyond belief. His feet ache, and he hates to admit defeat, but the day's work had yielded little more than statements from concerned customers and neighbours alike. He's starting to wonder what exactly Nakiri had intended for them to accomplish when a knock sounds on the door.

The innkeeper pokes her head through the door. "Can I take your plates?"

"Of course! It was delicious." Tadokoro steps aside to let the woman through. He watches as they make light chatter, running through the day's happenings and discoveries in his mind. It's not too late yet, and there'll be time to ring Nakiri back at Totsuki to give his report.

Knowing her, it'll have to be a short one.

He sighs, glancing out the window. It's the same starry sky that greets him beyond, but one that brings little peace. If anything, he's eager to pass out and get back to work the next day. Nakiri's voice echoes in his head, haughty and imperious as always. Touched with a hint of affection. Intrinsically Nakiri. _The sooner you get it done, the sooner you get back here._

He doesn't notice that Tadokoro's talking at him until she strides right up to him. There's a magazine in her hands, and as she hands it to him, he notes the look of concern in her eyes. "Ah, sorry. I was just spaced out a bit."

"You must be really tired," She sets down a cup of tea, then nods at the magazine in question. "The innkeeper wanted you to see the latest Saveur."

The picture that greets him on the front cover is a familiar one. He can't help but smile at it – they'd been messing around the day of the photoshoot, the queen in her regal chair and her first seat by her side, ready to fight the battles she could not on her own. She'd made fun of his over-the-top Shounen-hero pose. He'd flicked at her hair, ruffling the blonde tresses each time she took her eyes off him. Eventually, she'd grabbed his hand to make him stop, and they'd ended up a stupid laughing mess.

Literally one good shot came out of that three-hour photoshoot, the rest 'ruined' one way or another by a laugh, a smile, or by the intimacy they shared.

It's a good memory and he's happy to drown in it, so it's no surprise he doesn't hear Tadokoro when she speaks. "I wish we could stay here forever," He says absently. Nakiri's eyes gleam on the cover of the magazine, as if to say 'maybe next time'. _It really is too bad._

* * *

 **A/N -** Thanks for all the reviews, guys! I have to point out that my main platform of choice is Tumblr. Feel free to PM me for my handle if you'd rather follow me there. As to updates - they may be frequent or infrequent depending on my prompts or if the mood strikes me like today. Either way, this fix it was necessary for the garbage that is Chapter 264.

For posterity's sake, I think we can go ahead and agree that this collection of one shots does not happen in order, nor do they adhere to canon.

Also if you've got any thoughts, please do review! It brightens my day and I really love hearing what y'all think. :) Cheers, and thanks, until next time!


	14. Chapter 14: To Taste The Sweetness

**Go Downtown (To Taste The Sweetness)**

 **23:15 - Totsuki - Third Year**

Yukihira Soma is 100 percent peeved. Erina Nakiri has really only been his girlfriend for three months, but she's had more than two years to accustom herself to the whims and fancies of the baka she's (privately) called the love of her life, so she can _tell_. And really, it isn't often that Yukihira gets annoyed – she can only recall a handful of other instances when she had ever seen him _this_ worked up, and none of those situations had been ideal. It's evident in the slightly soured downward curl of his lips, his narrowed amber eyes and the way he more than impatiently swats at the hair over his forehead. It's even moreso in the monotone responses he's been offering up to her all night, a melange of 'yes', 'no', and 'fine'.

So she lets him stew.

It's an hour-long car ride between the awards gala dinner they'd been attending, and plenty of space between them in the back seat. Her driver, evidently unused to seeing them silently seething as opposed to eating one another's faces, tries, and fails to make conversation. Eventually, he settles on a Spotify playlist of 2011's best hits, and she has to physically stop herself from reaching forward to strangle the old man when Stereo Hearts comes on.

By the time they make it back to her office in campus, she's just about ready to start yelling, and if it weren't for the fact that Yukihira looked _so damn hot_ in that three-piece suit, she would. Instead, she backs a pace as he rounds on her, eyes flashing and knuckles pale as he tugs his bowtie from his neck to loosen his collar.

"Well?" She demands, her heart pounding in her chest and a lump in her throat. "Are you about done sulking? Mind telling me what the actual fuck this is all about?"

Yukihira tosses the bowtie onto the couch, then crosses his arms, crimson brows knitted together in a half-scowl, half-grimace. "That fucking Asahi guy. Did you mean what you said earlier?"

She stares at him. "What?"

Yukihira slides his arms out of his coat, and discards that. His voice takes on a clipped quality, one she's not sure she's ever heard. The last time she'd seen him angry, he'd been yelling. She gets the feeling this is _much_ worse. "I said," he says through gritted teeth. "Did you mean what you said about Asahi's food?"

"What the hell are you on about? It was an impeccable dinner service he put out, and if you think I'm going to lie to save your precious ego—"

"Two years," Yukihira growls, and she misses a breath as he bridges the gap between them. "Two years and you've yet to say anything I've cooked is delicious, but with him it's all 'Oh, Chef Asahi, that's delicious'. So tell me, Nakiri, if he's so obviously superior, why the fuck are you still with me?"

Her blood boils, and she slaps away his hands, striding over to her desk. "Oh, fuck you, Yukihira! You know why!"

"Why?" He turns towards her, eyes flashing. "You gonna let me know ahead of time when you pick the right partner to run this ship with? Because I'd really like to know if I'm going to be out a girlfriend, Nakiri."

She slams her fist into her desk, cheeks flushing. Every bone in her body aches from hours spent in heels, and her earlobes are sore from bearing the weight of the ten carat earrings on loan from her contact at Cartier. And yet, the exhaustion ebbs, cowed into submission by the rise of red-hot fury.

"You're saying you still don't know after two fucking years?" She swallows, clenching her fists to keep the shivering at bay. "Really, you're going to play this card? If you're going to be posessive and jealous over someone who, at some point, wanted to get in my pants, at least be honest about it instead of hiding behind your cooking aspirations."

She counts to ten. He stares her down, and she thinks that if it were possible for a human to burn a hole in another's head by sheer will alone, she would be dead. She's barely had time to wonder if she's more pissed off or turned on before he crosses the room in five long strides, and half a breath and barely an exclamation later, he's there in front of her, hands in her dress and tongue in her mouth.

They wrestle for control – they always have, but something about the man tonight makes her burn all the fiercer. Before she knows it, pens and papers go flying, and she's flat on her back, the cold, hard marble surface of her desk sending chills down her spine. Something rips – sequins and beads glimmering in the night as the heat of Yukihira's tongue mounds on the pearl between her legs. He laps at her, slowly, at first, in that familiar, circular way that makes her toes curl. Her fingers find their way into his headful of hair, srunching up fistfuls of crimson to tug and pull – a haughty demand and a silent plea for release.

Her peak is refused. Since their first drunken time in that closet at the Polar Star Dorm, they've had more occasions to experiment in the ancient and noble art of fucking, making for some very quick, but nonetheless satisfying trysts; and yet, Yukihira is evidently intent on taking his time at present.

"Say it," He growls into her, his nose nestling against her engorged nub. She bucks against him, but he's strong and she's powerless to resist. His fingers wrap firmly about her wrists as he shifts his weight to bear down upon her, his hardness evident against the flat of her belly beneath the tattered remains of her dress.

Snaking her hand from his iron-clad grasp takes a while, but she manages; yet he jerks away when she reaches for his manhood. A smirk of amusement crosses Yukihira's lips as she lets out an agitated whine, but that, soon, is wiped away as she snatches at his half-unbuttoned shirt to pull him down for a sloppy, messy kiss. He tastes of her own salt, but there is also more than a little bit of _Yukihira_ that she relishes in.

"De-fucking-licious, now put your cock in me already, you piece of shit."

When he finally obliges, the world explodes in a shower of stars and blinding white lights. She cries out against him, fingers digging into his shoulders even as he pumps into her. One. Two. One. Two. Drowned in the pleasure of his thrusts, she loses count, and as he takes her face in his hands – possessively, his eyes dark in the night, she whispers the words. _Her_ words.

They finish as one, their cries a song and their limbs entwined. After, he touches her face, fingertips tracing her jawline and eyes slightly narrowed. "Did you mean it?" He whispers, thumb on her lip.

She kisses his fingers, then shuts her eyes and nestles closer. His heartbeat slows to a gentle thump against her cheek. In the darkness, her hands find his.

"I meant every word."

Yukihira sighs, and in that moment, she knows peace. "I love you too, Nakiri."

* * *

 **A/N -** Thanks for the comments, likes, and faves, guys!


	15. Chapter 15: Wedding Vow Woes

**Wedding Vow Woes**

 **02:15 – San Marco, Florence – A week before the wedding**

It's long past midnight and just a week away from the most important day in his life, but there Yukihira Soma is – wide awake, hunched over the dining table in Nakiri's Florentian apartment and nursing his sixth cup of coffee of the night. Seated across the table from him, Hayama Akira and Kurokiba Ryo are both slouched back, the former poring over catering details for the reception and the latter delegated to stag's night arrangements.

Alice and Hisako had whisked Nakiri away to Paris for the weekend for her final gown fitting, so they have the space to themselves. It's barely been eight hours since she'd gotten on that flight, but he already misses her.

The hastily-scribbled letters, written, re-written, crossed-out and penned-over before him say about as much. He lets out a sigh, tosses down his pen, then leans back and covers his eyes with his hands. "Oh, fuck it. I'm going to speak from the heart."

"No, you're not." By the sound of the typing filling the air, he surmises that Hayama hasn't even bothered to look up. "There's going to be a video team there. Do you really want to ramble on for twenty minutes, and then pay for it years down the road each time you and Nakiri watch the recording?"

"Who the hell even invented wedding vows? It's such bullshit. I bet she hasn't written hers."

"Nakiri makes at least three speeches every month, so I'm pretty sure she's got it down by now," comes Kurokiba's tired drawl. "It really isn't that hard. Just tell her you love her."

"I do."

"Good." The typing stops for a brief moment; then Hayama picks up once again, evidently irritated. "Now add on every promise you think she'd want you to make. Love her, honour her, cherish her, respect her – all that stuff."

"How would you know? You literally drove through Vegas to get married."

The silence that fills the air is defeaning. He instantly knows he's done fucked up – and the expression on Hayama's face when he straightens is proof enough of it. On the other end of the table, Ryo is wearing an equally disgusted face, one eyebrow raised and his glass of bourbon halfway to an open mouth.

The apology comes quickly, and genuinely. "I'm sorry. Sorry, Hayama; It's late, I'm cranky and I'm an asshole."

"You are," Hayama sighs. His deep green eyes narrow briefly – but then the man shrugs and returns to his typing, his voice tight and controlled. "I've known you were a piece of shit since high school."

"Just make him pay for all the drinks tomorrow night," Ryo supplies, and he's relieved to see it brings a smile to Hayama's face.

"I was going to anyway." Yukihira stretches out, then leans back again. A quiet silence settles upon them, with Hayama and Ryo occasionally exchanging remarks on this and that. The background noice, occasionally punctuated with the former's typing, is comfortably familiar – he thinks back to the days they'd spent together in the Elite 10, bogged down with paperwork and so very sheltered from the harsh realities of the world.

The thought of his own innocence makes him smile. _We're all changed._

"What did you promise Alice?" He glances up.

Ryo considers this for a moment. "Patience and excitement. She made me promise to never bore her, and I reminded her that I haven't, yet. Then she promised to obey me, and I promised to never take advantage of her devotion. It was all very sappy."

"It was," He agrees, then glances aside to Hayama. The man has been married all of a year, but the cracks in _that_ relationship are clear as day. Deep down, he knows it's because the man himself has never quite gotten over Arato, and isn't exactly looking forward to a weekend with her and her new beau. He lowers his voice. "And you, Hayama? What would you have promised Arato?"

Hayama rolls his eyes, but there's a darkness in his gaze that suggests he's thought of this more times than he'd care to admit. A pregnant pause follows; Ryo, happily married and settled into the domestic life, pours another measure of gin and slides it down the table to Hayama, who simply downs the shot before responding: "Everything."

"Shit," He manages to get out. "For what it's worth – I don't think she'll ever really be over you, neither."

Hayama shrugs a shoulder, then quirks a smile. It tugs at his heart, where Nakiri resides, and not for the first time that night, he's reminded of just how much he misses his fiance. "Write your damn vows, Yukihira. Arato will most likely nag us to death for failing to keep you on track if you mess them up."

"I'm sure you'd find a way to endure that," He tells his friend, and is rewarded with a laugh.

Two days later, he walks through the door to find Nakiri on the couch, eating risotto and drinking red wine. She glances up as he sits by her side, then passes him the half-eaten bowl. "Hungry?"

"A little," He tells her, taking the bowl and setting it down on the table. "So Hayama and Kurokiba both think my vows are shit."

Nakiri scoffs, looking amused. "I'm sure as hell not marrying you for your speechmaking skills."

"No," He agrees, grinning. "But I still do want to make my promises to you."

"Oh?"

"I promise to always accept your Shokugeki challenges," He tells her, taking her hands. "And I promise to be a gracious loser. I promise to wash up after you cook, and I promise to let you use the sink and shower first in the morning. I promise to protect you from all the roaches and spiders, and I promise to always take out the trash. I promise I'll love you even when we're fighting, and I promise to always consider your advice – even if I ultimately don't take it. Anything else and more that you might want, I'll promise in advance, because I love you, Nakiri."

She watches him for a moment. Then, lips curled: "Write this down."

"What?"

"Write it down!" She shoves a pen and a notepad at him, laughing. "Those are good vows, and I want witnesses for all those promises in case you try to back out of loading the dishwasher."

He snickers, and kisses her on the cheek. "You really are something else, Nakiri."

"I am," She tells him. "But you love me."

And he does.

* * *

 **A/N** \- Thanks for the follows, comments, and faves!


	16. Chapter 16: I Got All My Sisters With Me

**I got all my sisters with me**

 **02:13 – Totsuki – Second year**

The Council building is all but abandoned at this late hour, but it's when Alice Nakiri loves it best. It's not unheard of for the Elite Ten to stay past midnight when shit hits the fan, but it's not one of those days, or weeks, or even months. With no events or promotion exams to take up their time – she's not even sure why she'd wanted to be a part of the council anymore; there's just _so_ much work! – the Elite are out to play.

And oh, does she intend to play hard.

In lieu of drowning in paperwork – Ryo takes care of 85% of hers anyway – they'd spent the day in Ginza, getting their nails done, having massages, eating gourmet burgers and melon soft serve, and shopping their way through the entirety of Chuo Dori. It's close to nine by the time they stumble out their car into the courtyard of the Council building, shopping bags and takeaway in tow, giddy and laughing.

Erina has never been an open book, but, as she watches her cousin giggling, beer bottle in hand with a floppy Hermes beach hat draped over her shiny strawberry-blonde hair, Alice has to admit she's come a long way.

They skitter across the empty hallways, occasionally bumping into one another, their heels and wedges clacking against the cold stone floors. Erina's room is the largest in the building, and though the fire in the hearth has long since slowed to gently-glowing embers, it's warm enough and plenty comfortable.

She kicks off her heels, reaching for the plum-coloured velvet cushions meticulously arranged on the B&B Italia sofa. Erina makes a face when she tosses them onto the floor, but consents to lay down by the fire anyway, snuggling deep into the high-pile Nanimarquina rug and letting out a long, but contented sigh. "I can't believe we spent all day out. I've got so much work to do."

"Do it tomorrow." She digs into one of their bags to retrieve a luxurious silk bathrobe, tugging it on over her spring dress and meandering over to her cousin. "You're such a workaholic, Erina. Sometimes I think, if I didn't make you take it easy, you'd work yourself to death."

To her credit, Erina laughs, flushing pink in the face and shutting her eyes. Whatever's in that brew, Alice has to agree it's pretty damn strong. "Oh, god. I appreciate it, I really do, but I was hoping to finish that first year hell-camp report tonight, and now I'm drunk."

"You're barely inebriated."

"It's not even legal. Why d'you think Sakaki-san keeps calling her experiments 'rice juice'?" Erina rolls over onto her chest, setting down her drink and nuzzling into one of the pillows. "Ow. How're you still standing? You've had like three of these."

She grins. "The legal age of drinking in Denmark is 16."

"You _just_ turned sixteen." Erina peers up at her, squinting in the relative darkness. "And you haven't been in Denmark in ages."

She can't help but to giggle at that. "Ryo worked at a pub. We used to sneak beers after dinner service."

Those had been some good years. Nights spent by the docks, bathed in the light of the stars and moon overhead, laughing, singing, and dancing barefoot in the company of her best friend.

She still hasn't decided how she feels about him, so she changes the subject. "Anyway, let's see what's on TV. I don't want today to end."

"I'm sleepy," Erina groans, but hands her the remote anyway.

The Asian Food Channel is showing reruns of Masterchef Junior, and for the next few minutes, they watch as Gordon Ramsey flits from station to station, helping the little midgets with their cooking. They're kind of cute, she has to admit – in that slightly annoying and overly shrill way she's certain she had never been in her youth. It's just as Chef Ramsey's comforting a crying little girl that she remarks, half joking and half serious: "I think he'd make the best husband and father."

Erina, who by now has retrieved a thick woolen Armani wrap and is fully bundled within, seems to consider this. "He's a little rough around the edges, but he's really good with kids." A pause, as she considers this further. "But I think I would prefer Jacques Pepin."

"Ooh, he's a good one. But I like mine a bit more… rugged." She racks her mind for another example. "Like Vladamir Mukhin, or, like… Alex Atala."

"Dominique Crenn," Erina suggests. To this, she can only agree, the both of them sighing wistfully at the thought. "And I really respect Chef Bottura, too."

"You know who I really, really respect?"

Erina glances over, raising a brow. "Ludo Lefebvre?"

"Him, too, but no. Bourdain."

Erina manages a smile, but there is something strained within her face – one that suggests she knows only too well the treacherous, and oftentimes torturous path of the chef who wanders and who seeks, never content to simply _be_. "Yeah," She says, her voice soft.

Wordlessly, they clink their bottles together, then drink deeply.

"While we're on the subject of chefs in the wilderness," She sets aside her emptied bottle, then wriggles closer to her cousin, laying her head on her pillow. "How're things with Yukihira?"

"How d'you mean? They're the same as always." Erina shuffles aside a little to make room. The bangles on her wrists glint in the firelight; she tugs them off, stacking them one after the other on the parquet floor beneath the carpet. "He does something stupid, I end up yelling, we rinse and repeat."

Alice lets out a sigh, rolling over onto her side. Her nose bumps lightly into her cousin's shoulder. "Do you think he's just jealous of Asahi-kun?"

Erina lets out a faint groan. "I don't know. Don't ask me this – Yoshino-san's already grilled me about it."

She lets out a soft 'hmmmmmm', snuggling closer and shutting her eyes. As cold-hearted as Erina can be, she has to admit her cousin makes a damn fine living, breathing heater. "Do you like Asahi-kun?"

"I don't know."

"I think you do," She stifles a yawn. It _had_ been a long day. "I think you just don't want to admit it, because to admit it would be to admit that you've got your eyes and heart set on someone else."

Erina shifts a little against her side, her voice breaking as she sputters her response: "W-what?"

"Don't worry," She pats her cousin's head lazily without opening her eyes. "I won't tell Yukihira."

"There's nothing to tell!"

"Mmhmm." She lets that sit between them for a moment. "For what it's worth, Erina – Neither of them deserve you right now."

In the darkness, Erina takes her arm. Her smile deepens, and the last thing she hears is a soft, barely perceptible, and yet affectionate 'Thank you, Alice', before the world slips away, lulling her into blissful slumber – the happy end to a day well-spent.

* * *

 **A/N** \- Thanks for the reviews, guys! I really appreciate them!


End file.
